I felt disgusted with myself by the time I drove back from Lela's apartment. It seemed like such an uncharacteristic loss of self-control on my part. I had allowed my jealousy of John to enrage me to the point that I had called Lela a "dirty CumSlut" and I had urinated all over her, two things that I swore I would never do.
As I rehashed the events of the last few months, I shifted some of the blame from myself to the CumSlut. Lela had offered me the option of urinating on her multiple times, framing it as a highly enjoyable experience for her, something that she craved even. I knew it was a critical component of her service as a submissive escort, and judging by her client journal and her admissions to me, many of her paying customers urinated on her.
To paraphrase her own words, was I to be the only man who fucked her that didn't give her a good soaking? Either way it didn't really matter. We were done and my parting gift to the CumSlut was a golden shower.
Inexplicably, Lela didn't seem like our relationship was over, and less than two hours after I left her place she texted me.
"Thanks so much for bringing me the medication, Mark," Lela began cordially, presumably referring to the Epsom salts. "I am feeling much better after that good soaking!"
I read that text at least a dozen times, trying to absorb the double-entendre of the "good soaking" remark. Was Lela thanking me for running her a hot bath, or for giving her a golden shower, both of which could be considered to be a good soaking? Even as Lela continued to try and engage me via text messages, I made the decision to ignore her. In my opinion, she was in a fragile emotional state and I didn't want to get dragged into her spiral of self-hatred. Lela's texts became increasingly frequent and much more erratic in nature.
Lela asked me to come over to her place the following morning as she felt sufficiently healed to fulfill all of her sexual promises to me. She assured me that all three of her orifices would be unsullied and completely available for my use. I was sorely tempted by that offer. I had so many unrealized sexual fantasies that Lela was willing to accommodate, and she had primed the pump with our nightly phone-sex conversations.
However, I knew that I needed to be resolute to avoid being sucked into her black hole, so I ignored her. When I never responded Lela asked me if I wanted to urinate on her again because she had thoroughly enjoyed the experience. When that failed to elicit a response from me, Lela threatened to tell Samantha about our encounter, even claiming that she had a hidden camera in her bathroom. A few hours later Lela promised to stop seeing John if I took her back, which I knew was a total fabrication. Lela was unraveling quickly, and I wanted no part of it so I took the easy way out and blocked her on my iPhone.
Lela had referred to the process as ghosting, but whatever its current name I took it seriously, even instructing my workplace to put Lela's calls directly into my voicemail. I managed to avoid that dirty fucking CumSlut for almost three months before I was notified by the local psychiatric hospital that she was under observation, having attempted suicide by hanging. Lela had listed me as her next of kin, having not one other person in the world that she trusted.
"This wasn't a cry for attention," the attending Psychiatrist informed me, as we looked at Lela through a small observation window. "This was a very serious and well-planned attempt to take her own life. Lela is extremely fortunate that the window frame gave way under her weight."
When Lela recovered and was able to receive visitors, I was the only person to visit her, which was damaging to her already fragile psyche. Lela seemed broken beyond repair but as I looked directly into her eyes I realized that I still loved this woman very deeply. We sat next to each other in the hospital bed for four hours that day, despite repeated assertions from the attending Psychiatrist that Lela needed to rest.
"Please, Doctor," Lela begged. "Mark is my only friend in the world. I am feeling very lonely right now and I need his company."
After the Doctor acquiesced, Lela and I sat holding hands as we opened our hearts to each other. Our tears flowed freely and we professed our undying love for each other. After a protracted conversation, I asked her to marry me.
"Mark, I love you too," Lela whispered. "But our marriage would never survive. I crave the abuse of men way more than the money I earn from it. I will never be able to give up sex work."
I loved this young woman so much that I tried to justify her behavior, in the same way that a truly understanding woman allows her bi-sexual husband the occasional homosexual encounter. Or the way a man learns to live with the behavior of his alcoholic wife, even if it leads to her periodic arrest for public intoxication.
"We all have flaws, Lela," I began in earnest. "I will learn to accommodate your needs, to live with your desire to be dominated sexually by strangers. I will love you unconditionally."
And so, from that day forward, Lela and I began our revamped relationship. I waited until she was released from the hospital to engage in any physical relations with her, by which time I had explained the situation to Samantha, who didn't seem that surprised at the turn of events.
"It's not like we are hot for each other anymore," Samantha said disdainfully. "That spark died the day you forcibly sodomized me. Plus, despite your denials, I still think that you would rather jerk off into my dirty intimates than make love like a real man. My only regret is that I never got to bend you over my desk and butt-fuck you with my strap-on. I am better off without you, Mark."
I moved out shortly after that conversation and I did respect the fact that Samantha acted with complete professionalism at work. I hadn't told anyone about the changes in our relationship, but apparently Samantha had shared our break-up with a couple of the Senior Management Team, and also Human Resources to protect her interests. In fact, I endured some scathing criticism from some of my superiors who thought that I was completely nuts to dump Samantha, who was a shoe-in to make partner at the law firm, for Lela, the filthy CumSlut.
Danny Marshall was particularly vocal in his criticism of my decision.
"Have you gone mad boy?" he asked me the first time we were alone in the office. "You do know that Samantha will be a partner in this law firm in the near future, right?"
"I know that, Mr. Marshall," I responded, with as much deference as I could muster.
"And presumably you must also know that Lela is a submissive escort who works under the name of CumSlut, right?" he continued aggressively.
"Yes sir, I am aware of my fiancée's occupation," I responded warily.
"Well then boy," he continued with his air of arrogance, "You should also know that some of the management team enjoy the services of the CumSlut from time to time. In fact, I have scheduled a blowjob from your girl Lela tomorrow morning when Samantha is in court," he added with a flourish, thoroughly rubbing my nose in the upcoming encounter.
Even though it was emasculating knowing that some of my superiors at work were employing the services of the CumSlut, I was committed to Lela. I loved and cherished her, provided for her every need and allowed her the latitude to fulfill her desire to be dominated. Lela actually enjoyed rubbing my nose in her infidelity too, a throw back to the college days, when I was an unwilling cuckold. I always knew a few days in advance when Lela was going on a date, and I was often instructed to make the arrangements. At six hundred dollars per hour, at least the encounter nearly always took place in a luxurious hotel, but it was still emasculating to call the reservations desk and book a suite for my girlfriend and her lover.
Most of the time Lela would take a cab back to our place, although some of the more expensive hotels had chauffeur service included. Every so often, Lela would encounter a more dominant man, and having endured a thorough beat-down, she would ask me to come and help get her home. These were my least favorite dates, and I occasionally questioned why I was in this fucked-up relationship. However, as I would nurse Lela's wounds and run her a bath of Epsom salts to reduce the swelling, I could tell that she loved only me.
Of course, much to my chagrin John was also there on a regular basis to fill the void in Lela's soul. Now that I knew what financial accommodation she extended to him, it was even more of a kick in the nuts. I couldn't help myself either, and I would check Lela's purse before and after John's sessions. It was disheartening to find that she was thirty or forty dollars worse off after catering to his every need, having paid for the budget motel room.
John would rub it in my face too, when we passed in the hallways at work.
"I only ever take Lela to seedy motels," he taunted me one day as I was using the copy machine. "To teach that dirty CumSlut a lesson in humility. You know I don't pay to use your girlfriend either, Mark. Lela even pays for the motel room," he added cheerfully. "And I am a very demanding customer."
Two or three times a month John would take Lela to some seedy motel and butt-fuck her on a cheap beat-up mattress. To hear Lela tell it, John liked to urinate on her as she knelt on the molded plastic floor of the shower enclosure, looking up at him as if he were the most important man on earth. Unfortunately, that would be the only use the shower got on those days, and Lela would return home to me reeking of John's piss.
Predictably, as the chief engineers of the Joshua Tree Retreat, John and Danny Marshall bonded and became good buddies. I noticed the two of them hanging out at work, and as John shared more of Lela's sordid history with his direct supervisor, Danny felt entitled to take additional liberties with Lela.
Mr. Marshall informed me of his intentions too, taking great delight in rubbing my nose in Lela's infidelity.
"Your girl is coming here tomorrow morning at 9am," Danny gloated as I lowered my head in defeat. "I need you to entertain her until I am ready. Samantha will be in court all morning so we won't be pressed for time."
The following day my heart was pounding in my chest as the appointed hour approached. Completely unaware of my emasculation, the receptionist paged me over the intercom.
"Mark, please come to the front desk, you have a guest waiting."
